Sometimes the Soldier Remembers
by Voodoosgirl
Summary: One possible night for the Winter Soldier. A simple mission, a sad encounter, a good deed.


The soldier didn't try to blend in with the local humanity. He tucked his shoulder against a discreet door frame; feigning disinterest in the marketplace bustling around him.

An inept soul might stare at him; questioning his choice of apparel for the sweltering climate. Utilitarian muted tones; fitted leather, strapped and buckled; not discreet weapons. The curious would glance at first then hurry past, detered by his projected intimidation. To those well versed in how to look the other way, the soldier was invisible.

The brave or the foolish might connect with his cold gaze; hiding his emotions behind the void reflected in his steel grey eyes.

The cooler night air hovered above the canopy of heat generated by the shuffling crowd. Swaying lines of dingy bulbs added a yellow pall to everything it touched.

The soldier observed without moving; not betraying the urgency that ticked beneath his skin.

This assignment was mundane for someone with his unique talents. If he were free to have an opinion, he might have spent energy on why he was chosen; what purpose it served to have the Winter Soldier track down such an easy mark. Even if opinions were allowed, the aftermath of each mission preparation left his mind empty.

Struggling against his handler's routine was abandoned long ago; compliance kept repercussions at bay.

His directives were clear: Obtain the embezzled information, eliminate the target, negative evidence of his intervention.

The soldier waited and watched.

Words, shouts, cries; all slipped into a hum of white noise. The spicy aroma of cooked fish; children laughing; music pulsing in the distance. It all underscored a sliver of a memory. The salt smell of the ocean; wet sand beneath bare feet; the rhythmic circle of crashing surf beyond a wooden boardwalk. A quick tremor betrayed the deeply protected recollection of a thin boy with blonde hair, lying next to him on a beach. The surfacing images came with a warm sensation in his belly; not a familiar feeling except when the boy flirted with his mind. He welcomed the warmth, uncertain why he felt it or who the boy was; he let the feeling comfort him before dismissing it.

The dream was always costly. He'd spoken of it before, to his handlers, the price was high, he could remember that.

He rolled his left shoulder precisely; shifting the energy downward to settle in his fingertips. Refocusing his mind to the task at hand.

A richly dressed woman strolled past him, oblivious to his eye following her. She clipped along with a purpose followed by two young girls, bearing the marks of indentured service. He watched them with as much curiosity as he would allow. She pointed and hissed to indicate her choices; the girls jumped to satisfy. He noted her purchases the way a soldier takes account of his enemy's details. Two melons, a string of peppers; and a fold of emerald colored cloth.

He moved through the crowded alley using his height as an advantage; hanging back without thinking. The mark was oblivious to his watching. It wasn't hard to focus on her progress; he allowed brief excursions of his attention.

The smell of cooked meats; the back and forth sounds of bartering; feather-filled cages; it all passed through his awareness.

The distractions lulled his sense of alertness. Maybe it was all too easy.

A high pitched voice next to him caught his attention; he glanced to find one of the servant girls staring up at him.

He flinched. Not a common response on his part.

She pointed past him at the vendor; they launched into a quick bartering exchange that was lost on the soldier. He purposely altered his gaze towards the items being offered to defuse his indiscretion.

He focused on the pile of metal cages that pressed against his thighs. He hadn't noticed the contents until now. The cages were stuffed with fur; tightly packed, bulging out through the wires; he wondered why they'd sell fur in a cage.

The young girl's voice brought him back to his work. A covert glance revealed two small dogs in her arms; licking, wriggling bundles that pulled the laughter from her. It cost her in the end; as her mistress's displeasure was expressed through a stick applied to her back. Anger tumbled through his mind when he saw the girl shrink at the beating; he looked closely enough to see her quickly hidden tears. She ran after her mistress.

His step to follow hesitated; something warm and wet touched his hand. Not a touch that was frightening or abrupt; but tenuous and gentle.

He looked down.

It took a moment to sort out the jigsaw puzzle of parts and limbs but within a few heartbeats he could make it out. The pink flicker of a tongue slipping between the wires of the cage; connecting with his skin. He blinked the image into focus, the creatures in the cage were alive; hiding their fear behind the void reflected in their eyes. Unnaturally silent and still. Except the one small being daring to reach out. The soldier consciously pressed the back of his hand against the cage. A shudder ran through his body. He turned away to follow his target.

A rush of night air cooled the sweat on his neck and brushed his too long hair across his vision. He shook his head unconsciously.

They were moving quickly beyond the market now; no more time for daydreaming; he sought out the shadows and tailed the little entourage to a large walled estate nestled quietly on the outskirts of the town. He allowed them time to settle into their nightly routine; before he scaled the wall and easily traversed along its narrow cap to reach an open window. He entered her world silently.

The bedroom was empty. The sounds of the house were distant. A clock ticking. A muffled voice humming. He moved precisely in the darkened room; crossing to the bed, stripping the pillows out of the covers; efficient and silent he made his way through the house unseen. The target would be in a room on the first level; an office with opulent drapes, thick carpets; heavy leather and wood furniture. All the items that would serve to muffle the sounds of his work.

His path brought him past someone in the kitchen. The sound of their humming was louder now. He could hear the metal on wood rhythmic thud of a knife chopping ingredients. The aroma of turmeric and ginger wafted through the hallway. His stomach rolled; he paused; he allowed the smell to settle in his nose trying to quiet the hunger he felt. A faint tremor shook his hair; he pushed away thoughts of food; or how long it had been since he'd eaten. When the nausea passed he took another step; his eye was drawn to movement just beyond the doorway inside the kitchen. The two small dogs were tied to a table leg; wiggling and yapping, their eyes danced when they saw him.

The solution was clear when a human was encountered. Lethal force for an enemy; enforced silence for a non-combatant. But this was unexpected. The warm sensation spread in his belly again; thoughts of repercussions helped dissipate the warmth. It would be safer to keep the warmth at bay.

The soldier retreated to an alternate approach through large french doors; entry was simple for a man with his skills. His steps were light and cautious as he materialized behind the woman sitting at the desk. She saw his image on the computer screen too late to run or scream. He covered her mouth with a cold hand and wrapped his flesh one around the back of her neck. There was no effort to lifting her off her feet as she dangled and danced in his hands. She swung and slapped at him, kicking and writhing; he was unmoved.

The thumb drive slid easily into place; he followed his handler's instructions to download the requisite data. The woman lay unconscious on the floor at his feet. As the computer whirred its disapproval, he crossed to a picture on the wall that protected a safe. His hand paused before touching it; his eye drawn to the bold charcoal strokes. Rows of tenement homes; a tree-lined street; two boys walking, one with an arm possessively around the other. This warmth brought on a stronger memory. The heat of flesh under his flesh, soft hands slowly stroking down his chest; a distant sound of a sweet moan of pleasure. His tongue recalled the taste of salt and soap and hungry mouths engaging in the dark. The soldier heard his breath catch.

Movement tore him from the embrace. He swung around abruptly to see the two young girls, mouths agape, staring at him; their mistress; back to him. All of his training dictated his next choice; end their lives with little more than a twist of his fingers. Perhaps the breech of his recollections worked to soften his brutal approach. He held his step and raised one finger to his lips then pointed to the corner of the room. The girls obeyed.

In the end, he snapped the woman's neck after he sent the girls into the hallway. He filled the pillow cases with cash and jewels, pocketed the thumb drive and shook off the sense that he had somehow been reduced to being a common thug. The next mission will be glorious he told himself.

The soldier moved silently down the hallway towards the kitchen; his unsolicited followers stayed close without interfering with his progress. There was no humming or sounds of preparation; the spicy scents were dulled, the lights were dimmed.

He peered inside with nearly an expectation of two wiggling dancing creatures struggling to reach him. A faint lightness crossed his heart.

He stared into the darkness searching the empty floor. Tenuous fingers slipped into his palm; he glanced down at the girl. She pointed towards the sink. He stared at the silently hanging bodies for as long as it took to dissipate the lightness and embrace the void again.

The soldier's world was an endless loop of simple tasks and inevitable outcomes. Accomplish the assignments; gain a reward, sleep in the comforting cold. The only real pain anymore was the cyclic eradication of his life; a temporary measure as he learned repeatedly. He only spent a few moments in the pain; then moved on.

The girls followed him through the gardens; he lifted them over the wall; they trailed him down the dirt road away from the only home they could recall. None of them looked back.

It was dawn when the soldier pulled the old produce truck into the courtyard of a sprawling fenced complex. Even his expertise in handing multiple vehicles couldn't save the stripped gears. The noise of his arrival woke the residents; but the two sleeping girls in the front seat were undisturbed. Curled together, all arms and legs, they moved another memory into his mind. Waking to the early morning sounds of a city, thin arms and legs tangled around his own; breath close, matched to the rhythm of one another; his lips pressed to the neck of a blonde boy.

He shook away the weight of the visions; he was late; there would be a price to pay.

A cacophony of sound greeted him when he pried open the truck door and strode to the back. A young man emerged from the building to greet him with a quizzical look and a scratch of his unbrushed hair.

The soldier threw open the tailgate and began his self appointed task. He unloaded each crate with the kind of care that he'd long ago abandoned; tore each one open and watched as the captives celebrated their freedom. Crate after crate of creatures with silent frightened eyes, met the now laughing girls as they helped him finish his mission.

The soldier silently handed over the thumb drive and a handful of colorful jewelry; the value of which he had no real knowledge. There were several questions regarding cash; he didn't offer any explanations, allowing his silence to stand for itself. The beating would come whether he answered or not. He calculated it was better to just let it happen. It was near dusk when he was shoved in a cell, stripped and bruised; not dead or maimed. He was too valuable for that kind of punishment, he could remember that, had counted on it.

The night sounds carried into the cell through an air vent far overhead. He curled into a corner for warmth and listened as he closed his eyes.

Two girls laughing, a pillowcase full of cash; a hundred squirming, barking, howling dogs jumping on his legs, lapping at his hands; leaping around his feet. A boy with blonde hair. The soldier listened to the howling night; a sanctuary for the lost and found. A memory he would hold to tightly until they took it away.


End file.
